


Desert Places

by TeddieJean



Category: Descendants (Disney Movies)
Genre: Emerging threesome relationship, F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Abortion, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, It's not sexual, Lactation Kink, Multi, Not actually a kink though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 17:17:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13369443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeddieJean/pseuds/TeddieJean
Summary: It's not often that the Isle-born become sick, but when they do, it has a whole host of implications.  Ben happens to discover one of their coping mechanisms (otherwise known as Mal will do anything for her princess).Set after the events of Descendants 2, emerging Ben/Evie/Mal.  Read author's note for trigger warnings.  One shot, technically (we know how that always turns out).  (These kids are broken and hurting and someone please bake them all cookies and give them a hug.)





	Desert Places

**Author's Note:**

> FIRST of all, trigger warnings for non-graphic discussion of eating disorders and abortions, slightly more graphic but still not really graphic mentions of child abuse. Also, I'm marking this as complete for now because it can stand alone, though I may turn it into a chaptered fic if I have time (IF, big if). It's rated Mature because if I do end up adding later chapters they'll definitely include inappropriate content. 
> 
> Anyway. Why did I write a stupidly long one shot for an obscure Disney movie fandom with basically no readers that contains not only a possible OT3 relationship but also an element that people probably find disgusting? 
> 
> Because I FELT like it, that's why. I got dragged into this fandom and it won't let me go. I got to reading basically every fic as I re-watched the movies and realized that there's so much legitimately damaging material that Disney totally neglects to discuss, and I wanted to write about it. Considering the way that they grew up, there's no way that they don't have lingering issues, especially Evie with all the pressure that her mother put on her. This seemed like a reasonable assumption to make about how Mal, being Mal and wanting to protect her princess, would deal with that. It's probably got some inaccuracies, but I dealt with most of them by using Mal's faerie blood as an explanation.
> 
> That being said, if you somehow stumbled across this and enjoyed it, let me know?

It’s a rare gloomy morning in Auradon when Mal makes her way back to the room she shares with Evie.  The usually bright sky is grey and overcast, giving the vibrantly colored grounds an Isle-like bleakness.  The birds that nest outside the dorm room windows are unusually silent, too, and the resulting stillness feels suffocating.  A cloudy day in Auradon is uncommon enough as to be unsettling.  
  
Mal has been up since the crack of dawn despite the gloom; unable to sleep, she’s spent the past several hours in the nearby forest practicing her transformations.  It’s a skill that, while perhaps frowned upon by the more conservative Auradon residents, she figures is necessary to hone.  It won’t help their cause if she’s morphing into a massive dragon over every little frustration she encounters.  She doesn’t mind being out in the pre-stormy weather, either; the Isle was always gloomier than this.    
  
Regardless, something about the morning feels decidedly off.  Unable to pinpoint whether it’s due to the approaching storm or something more subtle, Mal quickens her pace, hoping to return to their dorm in time to take a brief nap before breakfast.  Hopefully a few minutes of sleep will help her put things in perspective.  Tiptoeing down the hall so as not to wake the other girls, she slips into the room and allows the door to fall shut behind her.  With a sigh, she turns to her bed, ready to collapse into it.  
  
She does a double-take at the sight of Evie sitting up in bed.    
  
Immediately, her sense that something isn’t quite right intensifies.  Evie never sleeps in, and is always up at the first light to do her extensive makeup and hairdos and prepare for the day.  It’s a weekend, but that hardly matters; nothing mortal or otherwise could force Evie to deviate from her routine.  A tiny flicker of worry rises in Mal’s chest.  
  
“E, what — ”  
  
“I’m sick.”  Mal closes her mouth as Evie responds flatly.  Something in her throat tightens.  
  
“Oh.”  It’s a lot more than a one-worded reply, and Evie knows it.  There are massive dark circles beneath her eyes, her skin pale and pasty.  Something about the set of her shoulders suggests achiness, and her arms are crossed protectively across her chest instead of resting with her hands folded primly in her lap.  With a single glance, Mal can tell that she’s yet to set foot out of bed; had she ventured to the bathroom, there’s simply no way that she would have allowed her hair to remain so tangled.    
  
It’s not often that one of them falls ill.  On the Isle, there was so little in the way of cleanliness that germ exposure had them immune to nearly every virus by the time they were walking.  Their lifestyle wasn’t exactly health-oriented.  Auradon, however, is host to illnesses to which they have no immunity.  Mal has hardly ever been sick even in Auradon, her faerie blood providing her with some immunity, but the others are susceptible.    
  
It’s a crack in their armor to which all of them have struggled to get accustomed.  They’re unused to being vulnerable with others.  Back on the Isle, it was a simple fact of life that being sick wasn’t conducive to survival.  There, sickness equated to weakness, and weakness meant defeat.  If Jay couldn’t swipe merchandise for his father, if Carlos couldn’t clean for Cruella; if Mal couldn’t spend her day looting and thieving and proving her worth, the consequences would be unfathomably dire.    
  
For Evie, it was always worse.  The Evil Queen’s wrath even over eyeshadow a shade too dark was too grisly to entertain.  The sight of her daughter pale and sickly was the deepest disappointment Evie could precipitate.    
  
Disappointment on their parents’ part was never . . . _pleasant,_ to say the least.      
  
“I look hideous.”  Evie’s whisper mirrors Mal’s concerns precisely.  One would think that, being free of the Evil Queen after sixteen years of forced perfectionism, Evie would be able to relax her standards.  Unfortunately, being the idealist that she is, the pressure has transferred to Evie’s own hand.  Anything short of flawlessness denotes failure, and failure warrants punishment.  Now that the Evil Queen is no longer around to dole out the appropriate discipline, Evie has taken up the responsibility herself.  Sometimes it’s all Mal can do to keep things from escalating to a dangerous level.    
  
It’s not all that she has to contend with.  Dealing with illness on the Isle meant, at best, continuing to loot and pillage while significantly more miserable than usual.  At worst, it resulted in total incapacitation followed swiftly by punishment.  As a result, they had to get creative.  Their coping mechanisms ranged from stealing an extra scarf to any form of self-defensive violence short of brutal murder.  Such precautions are unnecessary in Auradon, but the instincts have lingered, and some methods — well, in Jay’s words, _if it ain’t broke, don’t steal another._  
  
It’s only that in Auradon, some of their strategies aren’t exactly . . . sanctioned.    
  
“You’re not hideous,” Mal replies automatically, choosing to defer first to damage control before attempting to repair the situation.  She moves forward to lean over Evie’s bed, pressing the back of her hand to a burning forehead.  “You’re sick, not ugly.  You’re gorgeous and you know it, so I won’t hear another word about it.”  Her voice is firm in a way that lets Evie know she’s serious.  It may not succeed in actually changing her mindset, but Evie knows better than to challenge her.  There’s a reason that she was the leader of their little pack back on the Isle, and that aspect of their personalities hasn’t changed since their arrival.  Mal’s authority, as well as status in the villain hierarchy has protected them since they were little, and none of them see that changing now.    
  
“I need to get up,” Evie tries instead, which goes to show how well she continues to know the faerie.  Mal doesn’t value hypocrisy, and she can’t form a counterargument without succumbing to it.  They all know that despite being safe in Auradon, Mal refuses to acquiesce to weakness because of falling ill.  She’s ended up in the infirmary all of the few times she’s gotten sick because of her refusal to rest.    
  
Evie is therefore surprised to hear Mal counter her with an almost harsh, “No, you don’t,” as soon as the words have left her mouth.  “I’m not going to let you make yourself sicker,” she continues, and Evie frowns, because if there’s anything Mal has always done, it’s hold her friends to higher standards of wellbeing than herself.  She’s always fought for them; it’s part of what makes her their leader, but it and her combined stubbornness make her unusually hard to deter.    
  
Evie, however, isn’t one to go down without a fight either.  
  
“I’m getting up,” she counters stubbornly.  
  
“No, you’re not.”  
  
“I have things to do.”  
  
“It’s Saturday.  You have nothing to do.”  
  
“I need to get _dressed.”_  
  
“You’re staying in bed!”    
  
_“Don’t tell me what to do!”_  
  
_“I’ll tell you whatever I want!”_   Mal’s words escalate to a shout along with Evie’s.  Always accustomed to fighting with aggression instead of intelligence, they’ve both run out of well-worded arguments, but it doesn’t stop them from blatantly demonstrating their combativeness.  Mal glares with eyes flaring emerald in a way that would send Auradonians running for the hills, but Evie glares back just as furiously, arms folded tightly across her chest.    
  
A knock on the door causes them both to jump, but neither tear away their gazes as Mal grits out a response.  
  
_“Not now.”_  
  
“It’s Ben.”  Mal’s lip twitches a little, but otherwise her expression doesn’t change.  
  
“Now’s not the best time, Ben,” she calls out in a slightly lighter tone.  Evie cocks an eyebrow, unwilling to break eye contact.    
  
“Is everything all right in there?  I heard shouting.”  Mal lets out an irritated huff.  The two stare hard at each other for another moment before she finally pulls her gaze away.    
  
“Fine.  Come in,” she grants begrudgingly.  “Shut the door behind you.”  Both watch as Ben, already dressed and clearly ready for the day, slips in and does as he’s bidden.  He halts at the sight of them, Evie propped against her pillow in her pajamas and Mal, eyes glowing, perched above her.    
  
“What’s going on?” he asks carefully, clearly unwilling to overstep any boundaries but too curious not to speak up.  Evie lets out a disgruntled huff.    
  
“Nothing.”    
  
“Nothing,” Mal says shortly at the same time.  Ben raises his eyebrows.    
  
“And ‘nothing’ is why you’re both yelling so loudly I could hear you from down the hall?”  Mal’s mouth twitches again.  
  
“Yes.”    
  
“I see.”  When nothing but silence follows, Ben seems resigned to the fact that whatever is going on, they’re not about to share it with him.  Instead, he pulls a folded paper out of his pocket and gestures to the bed.  “I came up because I thought you might want to see this, Mal — it’s the updated legislation stating that the Isle’s rations will be increased by twenty-six percent.”  That gets Mal’s attention.  Forgetting about the earlier argument, she rises and makes her way to his side to read the paper.  
  
“Twenty-six?  There was hardly a seven percent increase last month.  When are these idiots going to wake up and realize that there are people _starving_ over there?”  Ben seems to share her irritation.    
  
“It’s the council,” he explains with a shrug.  “We know how great they are at getting things done.  Mal’s lips have thinned; often, when discussing weighted matters, her expression remains carefully blank, but she’s not bothering to conceal her frustration.    
  
“That’s no excuse.  There are _children_ over there — children like us, and I know you can’t speed up the selection process, but as long as they’re stuck over there the least we can do is make sure they don’t starve to death.  What is it these people don’t understand about the fact that if they wait any longer to fix it, they’ll be bringing kids over to Auradon in body bags?”  Ben doesn’t fail to notice the way that her eyes have gone hollow at the reminder of what life on the Isle was like.  He can only imagine what sort of memories conversations like these drudge up.  The four Isle-born have never shared specifics about what went on where they were raised, but he’s witnessed them rushing the lunch line often enough to know that it was nothing good.  He’s also become acutely aware of the fact that none of them are keen on baring skin for the world to see, with full knowledge of what sort of evidence of horror stories might lie beneath the leather.  
  
“It’s slow progress for them,” Ben says, fully aware that the explanation holds little worth in Mal’s eyes.  “They’ve only just come around to the idea of the four of you being here, and that was after you turned your mother into a lizard in front of royal court.  It’s new territory for them.”    
  
“It is for us, too,” Mal grumbles, “but we’re not morons about it.  At least they could — _what did I tell you!”_ she snaps suddenly.  Evie has taken advantage of their distraction to attempt to stand.  The blue-haired girl shakes her head stubbornly despite the fact that the moment she stood she went white as a sheet and had to grip the bedpost in an effort to remain upright.  
  
“I need to get up and get _dressed,_ Mal.”  Evie’s attempt to be firm is ruined slightly by the fact that her quavery words break off into a cough.    
  
Mal’s eyes flash.  
  
“Lie down; _now,”_ she commands coldly.  Evie seems to sense danger, for after a final, pleading glare, she allows herself to collapse weakly back down onto the bed.    
  
As soon as she’s down, Mal is at her side in a flash, pulling back the covers and supporting her as she struggles to get back in bed.    
  
“Princess, you know I’m only doing this because I don’t want you to get sicker,” she murmurs, her eyes having faded back to their normal jade.  “You get some rest, and I’ll bring you some soup to help you feel better, okay?”  Soup, along with tea, was something new to all of them when they arrived; the concept of being pampered when sick hadn’t occurred to them.  When Carlos was the first to fall ill, the nurse encouraged homemade soup.  They took to that idea more quickly than to others once they got a taste.  
  
Evie, though, has always had her struggles with food.  Despite being out of her reach, her mother’s influence has never fully released its grasp.  Being sick doesn’t help, because Evie can’t stand the sight of herself looking anything less than perfect.  If she fails to meet that standard, she proceeds to follow her mother’s old orders and eat less in an attempt to mend some aspect of the issue.    
  
Luckily, back on the Isle, Mal found a way to work around that.  It’s just that that particular method isn’t quite acceptable here in Auradon.    
  
“No food,” Evie mumbles obstinately.  “Mal, I need — ”  
  
“We can’t.”  There’s something different about Mal’s tone.  Ben notices instantly, picking up on the lowered voice and the pained reluctance that’s clear in her words.  “I’ll help you, but you’re going to have to eat and pull through.”    
  
“I don’t know how to get better without — ”  
  
“I know, but we _can’t_ do that here, princess, you know that.”  There’s a note of desperation in Evie’s voice that’s urgency is echoed in Mal’s as something almost close to sadness.  Mal’s eyes are apologetic, her hands smoothing over Evie’s temples with a tenderness Ben has only seen her exhibit with the two of them.  Evie sniffles, and it sounds different from a stuffy nose.    
  
“I just — I don’t want to lose that with you,” she admits.  She sounds more than a little choked, and as Ben watches, tears begin to form in her eyes.  One escapes and rolls slowly down her cheek.  The sight of it seems to break Mal.    
  
“Oh, princess,” she murmurs, reaching to pull Evie into her arms.  Evie’s tears are flowing freely now as she snuggles deeper into the offered embrace.  She buries her face in Mal’s chest, hands coming up to grip strong shoulders pleadingly.  A tiny sob escapes her, and Ben sees that Mal’s eyes have turned troubled.  “Sweetheart,” she starts, only to be interrupted by another plaintive sob.  She doesn’t try again after that.  Instead, she wraps her arms tighter around her friend, bringing one hand up to cradle the back of her head in a gesture that Ben reads as automatic.  Though she’s still crying, Evie seems comforted in this position, nestled into Mal’s torso.  Altogether, it looks like a position they’ve been in many times before.  
  
When Evie lets out another sob, Ben has had enough of trying to deduce things on his own.  
  
“What exactly is going on here?”  He doesn’t exactly raise his voice — wouldn’t, with Evie looking as pale as she is — but there’s something that hints of the beast in it nonetheless.  They seem to pick up on it, however subtle, for with a start, they pull away and turn to him as though they’ve only just remembered that he’s still in the room.  
  
“It’s none of your — ”  
  
“If it’s none of my business, you shouldn’t be talking about it when I’m standing right here,” Ben cuts across firmly.  Mal closes her mouth, looking slightly irritated.  A moment later, however, her gaze softens.    
  
“You’re right, Ben.  Sorry,” she offers.  Though their position has changed, she hasn’t removed her arm from around Evie.  He can’t restrain an eyebrow raise; apologies from Mal are reserved for moments of true preoccupation.  Knowing that there’s the potential for her to flip if he brings it up, however, he schools himself to handle the situation.  
  
“Now, what’s going on?” he asks patiently.  “It’s obvious that Evie’s sick, and that she won’t eat, but what’s this that you’re not allowed to do?  Some sort of spell, I’m assuming?  I am the King, you know, so I can make exceptions in the interest of helping someone get well,” he adds with a hint of amusement.  Mal and Evie, though, don’t appear to be amused.  Mal, in fact, is biting her lip worriedly, and Evie is staring quite determinedly at the floor.     
  
“Um, not exactly . . .” Mal trails off, and it’s then that he knows this is serious.  Mal hardly ever displays uncertainty, and she _never_ says anything like “um.”  She seems to sense her slip, for she sits up a little straighter, fixing him with that steady stare of hers.  “It doesn’t matter, though; it’s not something we can do here.  Even _there_ we had to keep it quiet.”  Ben takes _there_ to mean the Isle.    
  
If he’s honest, the thought makes him slightly uneasy.  What could possibly be so taboo as to be frowned upon on the Isle?  Surely it would have to be something so unthinkable as to warrant arrest in Auradon at the very least.  It doesn’t make sense, though, that something they would do to help someone recover from an illness would be so prohibited.  That’s unless it’s black magic, of course, but that doesn’t seem to Ben the sort of thing they would do, and there is no magic on the island, anyhow.    
  
“You’ve lost me,” he says finally instead of trying to puzzle it out.  “You can tell me what it is, you know; I won’t care.  Unless it’s something _really_ violent, but I’d still want you to explain it.  Whatever it is, it’s clearly making you both upset, and I don’t want that for either of you.”  Once more, the two on the bed exchange glances, and he can see that they’re both worried.    
  
“It’s not violent,” Mal assures him.  “Just . . . you’re going to think it’s weird; we did too, at first.  I don’t want you to . . . think badly of us.  Or wrongly.  Or whatever.”  She’s trying to shrug it off as though it’s no big deal, but Ben sees the tense set of her shoulders and realizes that she’s actually concerned.  Evie has entirely given up at this point, picking at the coverlet and refusing to meet his gaze.    
  
“I won’t think badly of you — or I’ll still listen, at least, even if it is weird,” Ben reassures, hoping he sounds convincing.  He wants them to know that he’s here, and that he’s willing to be a part of whatever this is.  Acceptance of the Isle-born would be nothing without his kindness in the first place.    
  
The two of them have locked gazes and appear to be having something of a silent conversation.  Mal seems to be searching for something in Evie’s eyes; permission, perhaps, because after a moment she turns back to Ben, biting her lip.  Evie coughs; they both stare at him.  It doesn’t take long for the level of scrutiny to grow uncomfortable, but he makes sure not to move a muscle.    
  
“You’d better sit yourself down, then, Benny-boo,” Mal says at last.  “This story isn’t approved for Auradon audiences.”  
  
Ben’s so surprised at first that he almost forgets to do as she asks.  He wasn’t expecting her to agree, attentive though he might be.  This seems the sort of thing they’re more likely to keep private; he takes the fact that they’re bringing him in on it to mean it’s serious.  In Mal’s book, only something that’s causing Evie legitimate distress is something to be shared.    
  
With that in mind, he moves quickly to the sewing table and obediently pulls out a chair.    
  
The two have returned to staring at each other intently.  He resolves to give them the time they need to sort things out, and sure enough, after a minute, Mal fixes her gaze on him, though her attention remains on the girl beside her.  Evie is leaning against her shoulder and has reverted to staring at the coverlet.    
  
“Right,” Mal says, and the use of an opener to stall for time lets Ben know once again the gravity of the matter at hand.  “Let’s start at the beginning then.  You know we had a . . . rough time, growing up that is.  The Isle doesn’t have much in the way of food; rations are inadequate and people usually end up digging through the trash heaps for scraps.  That was the least of our problems, really, but it’s . . . relevant.”  She pauses, and he nods to show his understanding.    
  
“We were a pack,” Mal continues with a sidelong glance at Evie.  “For some, that means you fight together.  We fought together too, but for us it meant we used each other for survival.  Helped each other.  It’s almost unheard of, because usually it’s every man for himself, but we did what we needed to do.  What little we had, we shared with one another.  That meant protecting each other, feeding each other; having each other’s backs.  Whatever food we found, Jay and I always gave the best bits to Carlos and Evie — Carlos because he’s small, Evie because she didn’t get fed at home.”  
  
“Wait, what do you — ” Ben starts to ask, but Mal interrupts him in an oddly detached voice.  
  
“When the Evil Queen is grooming you to be the fairest in the land, that means making sacrifices in the name of beauty,” she elaborates flatly.  “Being the fairest comes with a price.”  She leaves it at that, but Ben understands.  Mal twines Evie’s fingers tighter with her own, squeezing and lifting up to press a kiss to the back of her hand.  Evie continues to stare downwards at the bed.  
  
Ben’s heart aches.  He’s always known that Evie has more trouble with food than the other three; it was obvious from the beginning when they would push and shove to get to the front of the lunch line and she would hang back, often only eating a single apple.  To know, though, that it was brought upon her by her own mother, that she was starved because the Evil Queen was so obsessed with warped ideals of beauty, breaks his heart.  Evie is gorgeous; she’s curvy and dainty and moves with an easy grace.  She’s fine-boned, her hair silky, and her eyes big and bright.    
  
It pains Ben to think that any of them were ever harmed, but the thought of seeing sweet, lively Evie suffer makes him sick to his stomach.  It’s the way he felt the first time Mal trusted him enough to let him see the endless scars that litter her body, most inflicted by her own mother.  He hates that he wasn’t able to act soon enough to bring them here.  Not for the first time, he wishes that he could gather them both up and hold them and keep them forever safe from the vicious acts that, up until recently, were all they’ve ever known.  
  
He snaps himself back to attention in time to listen to Mal, who has begun talking again.  
  
“Eventually,” Mal continues, “Evie and I . . . figured out a new way of doing things.”  She pauses here, and Ben senses that she’s grappling with whether or not she actually wants to say what she’s about to divulge.  Evie’s eyes are shut now; she’s gripping Mal’s fingers tightly, but otherwise hasn’t moved.  After a long moment, Mal sucks in a breath.  
  
“When I was fifteen, I became pregnant,” she lets out in a rush.  “Our rivalry with Uma at that point was at a head and in order to get something we needed, I had to sleep with Harry Hook.  It’s not that uncommon a trade,” she adds, seeing Ben’s expression of shock and horror.  “For most of us, it was all we had to bargain with.”  She watches him flinch, but otherwise he doesn’t respond.  “Contraception doesn’t exist on the Isle,” she continues, “but it’s usually not an issue because our bodies are so malnourished that we don’t ovulate.  This was an unlucky time, though, because they’d recently upped our rations and I’d just gotten my period for the first time in a while.  We couldn’t take care of a kid, of course, so I dealt with it, but my body had still changed.  It was ready to provide nourishment, so I did.  It had been weeks since we’d had a decent meal, and Evie was _so hungry,_ I — ” she cuts herself off there, pulling in a little on herself for a moment before sitting up straighter as though defiant.    
  
“I would do anything for them,” she finishes, somewhere between grudging and defensive.  Ben tries hard to ignore the casual way with which she speaks the words dealt with it, but makes no comment other than to make a hum of understanding.  
  
He has a feeling that he’s missing something big.    
  
“I . . . don’t understand,” he says eventually.  He watches both of their faces to gauge their reactions, but there are none.  “I think I’m missing something.”  Evie lets out a choked noise; without hesitating, Mal brings up a hand to stroke her hair.  
  
“Okay,” she breathes out heavily.  “Let’s try this again.”  

* * *

_*flashback*_  
  
Winter had come.    
  
It wasn’t as though it made a huge difference; on the Isle, the weather was always gloomy.  Rain fell more often than not, and the air was chilled and clogged with smoke and the smell of rotting trash.  Today, however, was particularly brutal.  The cold had swept in on the northern wind from the sea, and sleet was falling at a steady pace.  It soaked into the grey stones of the back streets, turning them cold and slick.  In the market place, grey water cascaded in sheets from the stall awnings.    
  
Mal tightened the scarf around her neck, feeling the scratchy, damp wool catch against her jaw.  Her cheekbones and joints ached with the cold, and her ankle burned sharp and raw where she’d scraped it on the edge of a stall.  Her back smarted too beneath her jacket.  Being threatened by Uma’s gang had led to another round of punishment.  She’d done her best in that particular battle, but in her weakened state, her reflexes hadn’t been what they usually were.  She’d lost far too much blood that week, and having to keep on the move had left her with no time to recover.  _No child of mine will be challenged by a mere sea urchin._ Maleficent’s hiss had blended with that of the whip, the sharp snap of it slicing her skin open as she gritted her teeth against the pain.  
  
No matter.  She had work to do to make up for it, and dallying would only earn her further agony.  The others were supposed to meet her here, in this alley, to gather together and storm the docks, but the situation was looking rather dire.  Jay had showed up half an hour ago, only to break the news that Jafar had increased his expectations for a haul that week.  He wouldn’t have time to join her.  Carlos hadn’t shown either, and at this late hour, that likely meant he wasn’t coming.  The boy was nearly always early, so an absence meant he’d been kept behind for extra cleaning and likely an extra lashing to go along with it.    
  
It was Evie Mal was worried about.  She’d promised last night that she would be able to join in, and the fact that she hadn’t shown up yet was concerning.  The Evil Queen never permitted her to leave the house without critiquing every last facet of her makeup and wardrobe to ensure perfection, but it rarely took this long.  It was already edging into late afternoon; if the woman wasn’t satisfied at this point, it was unlikely that today was a day in which she could ever be appeased.    
  
Thus abandoned, Mal was left to make a decision.  Neither of her options looked particularly inviting, especially not from under the tarp that offered her a small respite from the freezing rain.  She could either attempt to take the docks herself, risking total defeat at the hands of Uma’s much larger crew, or she could return home without a victory and face the consequences.  Either way, she ran the risk of eliciting further anger on Maleficent’s part, and she wasn’t willing to experience another beating just yet.  It would be knives this time, surely, or perhaps the stove burner; Maleficent liked to alternate.  It was only by a miracle that she hadn’t found out about the little incident this week.  Mal had taken care of it with as much discretion as possible; if Maleficent had known, she couldn’t even imagine what the consequences might have been.  
  
Letting out a shiver, Mal determined to remain beneath the tarp for a few minutes more.  If neither Carlos nor Evie showed, she would have to weigh the risk and decide which impossible mission she was more willing to undertake.  Tucking her wrists further into her jacket sleeves, she hunkered down to wait.  
  
It didn’t take long for a third option to manifest in a way that would distract her from everything else.    
  
Mal had hardly been waiting ten minutes when the splash of footsteps across the rain-soaked stones sounded at the mouth of the alley.  Hearing them, she ducked out from beneath the tarp and squinted through the rain.  She let out a sigh of relief at the sight of Evie approaching.    
  
“For hell’s sake, it took you long enough,” she scolded her, trying her best not to snap.  If it had truly taken this long for Evie to get out of the house, she was having a much worse day than Mal was.  When Evie didn’t respond, however, Mal felt a tinge of worry creep into her tone.  “Evie?”  She squinted harder, trying to see anything through the darkening air.    
  
When at last the blue-haired girl stumbled close enough for her to see, Mal couldn’t restrain her sharp intake of breath.  
  
Evie was swaying on her feet, clearly using every last ounce of her strength to remain upright.  Her hair was plastered to the sides of her face, darkened by the rain, and the contrast only served to emphasize the ghostlike color of her skin.  Her cheeks looked hollow, her eyes lifeless and deeply shadowed.    
  
As Mal looked on in horror, Evie’s knees gave out under her.  Mal caught her just before she hit the ground.    
  
“Christ, princess, what happened to you?” she exclaimed, hooking her hands beneath Evie’s arms and hoisting her upright.  Despite the fact that Evie was a good three inches taller than she, she found that the girl was so light that it took hardly any effort at all.  She could feel the outline of ribs clearly through the leather jacket.    
  
Evie mumbled an inaudible answer.  Not waiting for a proper response, Mal mustered her strength and pulled them both beneath the shelter of the tarp.  The material was propped up over two piles of discarded furniture, creating a tent-like space.  The area beneath it was dry, and it wasn’t the first time that they had taken shelter beneath it.  Jay had even gone so far as to bring an extra blanket he had swiped to stash nearby.    
  
Mal reached for the blanket now, easing both of them down to sit.  She scooted to press her back against the wall and pulled Evie down in front of her, wrapping the blanket around her thin shoulders.  Evie was shivering uncontrollably, skin clammy, the chills seeming to come from somewhere within her diaphragm.    
  
“What happened, princess?” Mal asked in a softer voice, working to pat Evie dry.  Evie choked out a cough.  
“I’m sick.”  Her words were strangled and hoarse and seemed to take more effort than she had to give.  “Mother said — disgusting — horrific — have to fix it — ” she broke off into a coughing fit.  Mal steadied her as the harsh motion shook her shoulders.  After a moment, with a gasp, she continued.  “She won’t let me eat,” she said pleadingly, “not even a little bit, but Lucifer, it’s been _days._   Harry beat me to my rations and the scrap heap got rained on, and I can’t stand up for another minute but if I go home looking like this she’ll hurt me again; Mal, I’m _so hungry.”_ Evie let out a broken sob, swaying again so that Mal was forced to pull her against her own chest in order to keep her from tipping over backwards.    
  
_“Shh, all right sweetheart,”_ Mal soothed, rubbing her back gently.  “I know, I know.  We’ll figure it out, okay?  I won’t let you starve.  Not this time, all right?  I _promise.”_   Evie only cried harder, falling into Mal and weeping against her neck.  The sticky tears ran down her collarbone, making her skin crawl with itchiness and the cuts on her chest sting, but Mal didn’t say a word.  Instead, she held the girl closer, cupping the back of her neck as her thoughts ran wildly.    
  
It was true, what Evie had said.  The scrap heap had gotten rained on, ruining any chance at salvaging leftover food.  The week’s rations had come and gone; it would be six days before there was another delivery from Auradon, and by the looks of it, Evie couldn’t wait that long.  Mal could, and would, split some of her own rations, but it wouldn’t be enough to last them both the week.  At most, the entire portion would keep Evie going for another few days.  She was too far gone, too ill, for their usual amount to be of any use.    
  
No, she would have to get creative, and fast.  They were caught in a dangerous cycle.  Ill and without food, Evie would be punished for returning home weakened.  That, of course, would consist of receiving no food in order for the Evil Queen to control some aspect of the situation.  Thinness was beauty in her book, and it would be the one act she would take to preserve it when Evie was fading.  The fact was, however, that the lack of food would only lead to Evie growing weaker, which would in turn worsen their predicament.    
  
It seemed there was no way out, and in her desperation, Mal wished hopelessly that magic would work on the Isle.  If it did, her faerie blood would allow her to configure some sort of solution.  She realized inwardly then that even if magic were allowed within the bounds of the Isle, she herself was likely too weak to wield it.  The potion she had taken earlier in the week had caused her to lose a great deal of blood and to vomit copiously; any strength she had was currently at its low point.  Of course, there hadn’t been another option, and the potion had done its job.  As much as it pained her, Mal was grateful.  Looking at their current state, there was no way that a baby would have survived two minutes in this environment —  
  
_A baby._  
  
Now that just might work.    
  
It was unconventional; she ran the risk of Evie being disgusted, and she wasn’t going to pretend the idea didn’t unsettle her, herself, but it was worth a shot in the dark.  As far as she could see, they had no other option.    
  
“Hey, princess?” Mal murmured against the cold shell of Evie’s ear.  “I think I might have an idea.”  A weak mumble escaped Evie’s lips, which moved lightly against Mal’s throat.  Suddenly, the faerie was hyper aware of every small movement.  “I’m going to need you to lean back, baby girl.”  Obediently, moving slowly, Evie sat up.  Her expression was twisted with confusion.    
  
There wasn’t really a good intro for this — how was Mal supposed to explain herself?  She couldn’t shake the idea that Evie might try to run off, weak though she was.  They’d done any number of terrible things over the years, a good deal of them inappropriate, but this was crossing an invisible line of the sort Mal, up until about a minute ago, hadn’t even been aware existed.  If Evie went along with this, it was going to be hands down the most unorthodox measure they’d ever taken.    
  
It would be worth it, though, if it helped Evie.    
  
Now that she’d thought of it, Mal couldn’t shake the idea.  To her shock, she found that, while unsettling, it actually sounded like a good plan.  And to help Evie . . . well, it was no secret among the four of them that she would do anything for her princess.  They were a pack; they stuck together, and Evie was special.  Besides, Mal was a leader; being in control of every situation was what she needed.  The idea of providing for Evie in a very real way only fed that need.  She had always been the provider, but this would be an entirely new brand of that.  Still, if there was anything Mal was good at, it was caring for her princess.  
  
“Right,” Mal tried again, currently looking anywhere but at Evie’s face.  “Don’t freak out, all right?  I know this is really weird, and you might think it’s disgusting, but I think that it might actually work.  You’re starving, and you’re sick, and there’s no food left, and this is the only thing that I can think of.”  
  
“Mal.”  Evie’s voice, gentle even through its raspiness, cut softly through the sound of rain rattling on the tarp.  “What is it?”  
  
Closing her eyes for a moment, Mal took in the sensation of Evie pressed into her lap, warm and solid and far too light.  Evie _needed_ her.  She had to be strong for the sick, starving girl in her arms.  Besides, the idea of giving Evie strength in this way felt right, somehow.  And Evie had come to her for help; she trusted Mal to give her what she needed, to keep her alive.  
  
Taking in a deep breath, Mal opened her eyes and met Evie’s curious gaze.  
  
“I can feed you,” she said simply.  Through her exhaustion, Evie managed to raise an eyebrow.  
  
“You — do that already, Mal,” she pointed out, interrupted by a cough.  “You always bring me whatever you can find.  I know you save extra for me, and Jay does it for Carlos, too.”  Mal shook her head.  Unconsciously, her fingertips dug a little harder into skinny hips.    
  
“No, princess.  I mean _I_ can feed you.  My — I only took the potion three days ago; my hormones haven’t caught up yet.  My body still thinks I’m pregnant, and I was far enough into the pregnancy for a faerie that I’ve started . . . I can feed you,” she concluded, not knowing where else to go with it.  It was out there; now all that was left was to see what Evie would do with it.    
  
Evie’s other eyebrow raised to meet the other.  She blinked.    
  
“You — I mean, like _that?”_ she clarified.  So far, there was no reaction visible in her eyes.  “Like a baby?”    
  
Mal nodded.    
  
“Like that,” she confirmed.  “It won’t be a perfect solution on its own, but as long as I give you some of my share, we can keep you going until the next ration day.  Besides, it’s got to be healthier than any of the garbage we could dig up from the scrap heap.”  While she was talking, Mal’s hand had crept up to tangle their fingers in her lap.  Leaning up, she pressed their foreheads together and spoke to her softly.  “I’d be glad to do that for you, princess.”  Evie blushed, bringing a slight tinge of color back to her cheeks.  She was still shivering, the blanket not quite doing enough to ward off the winter chill.    
  
Her eyes darted downwards.    
  
“I’m not a baby, though, Mal,” she said slowly.  Mal hummed.  
  
“No, you’re not.  But you’re hungry, and I can help.”  Evie’s blush only increased.  Her eyebrows were scrunched together, something that she only did when her head was pounding — facial expressions meant wrinkles.  Bringing her hand up, Mal smoothed her thumb across a cold cheekbone, causing Evie to duck her head nervously.  “It will make you stronger,” Mal added gently when her friend didn’t reply.  “Your stomach will stop feeling so awful and empty, and you’ll start feeling better sooner.”    
  
Evie glanced up at that, peering up at Mal through fluttering blue eyelashes.  
  
“I will?” she asked uncertainly.  Mal nodded.  
  
“You will.  Besides, I’ve heard that skin-to-skin contact helps heal you faster,” she added.  She’d heard it from women on the street discussing motherhood — something, she realized, that she’d been dangerously close to experiencing herself.  She’d better hope it was true; if they went through with it, they would be a great deal of skin-to-skin very shortly.  She couldn’t help but think about the implications of that, followed swiftly by the reminder that, in the cold winter air, sharing a little body heat could certainly do Evie no harm.  
  
Evie seemed to realize this as well, for she’d reverted to keeping her eyes downcast.  The blush had remained in her cheeks.  Mal wondered what she was thinking about, whether she was envisioning what might occur.  As she watched, the girl drew her lip between her teeth thoughtfully.  After a moment, she glanced up, and it was clear by the way she quickly looked away that she’d been hoping not to catch Mal’s eye.    
  
A gust of wind rushed through the alley, rustling the tarp and eliciting a shiver.  Subconsciously, perhaps, Evie scooted slightly closer.  Mal knew that if she didn’t take charge, a decision would take too long to make.  Every precious minute, Evie was growing weaker.    
  
“Don’t be shy, my princess,” she cooed, tucking her fingers beneath the blue-haired girl’s chin.  Evie was forced to raise her eyes, and when they met, her gaze was bashful.  “I give you food all the time, don’t I?  I’ve stolen bread for you, and fished through the scrap piles, and snuck it to you when you weren’t getting enough at home, right?”  Still blushing, Evie nodded.  “Well, it’s the same thing,” Mal assured her.  “Just me giving you something.  It’s just sustenance, baby girl, and you _need_ it, sweetheart.  Besides, faeries carry magic in their blood that nourishes their babies.  It would help you, and right now, you need a little something extra.”    
  
It was hard to miss the way that Evie’s eyes darted conspicuously down to her chest.  Suddenly, the leather felt oddly tighter than usual.  
  
“Come on, E,” Mal murmured when Evie made no move to respond.  “I know you’re hungry.  You’ve been hungry for so long, sweetheart; let me help you.”  Still cradling the girl’s cheek in her palm, Mal held eye contact.  For a long minute, they said nothing, both searching each other’s eyes for a sign of a decision.  Evie was still shivering.  
  
“Okay,” Evie breathed out at last, sitting up a little straighter.  Mal raised her eyebrows.  
  
“Okay?” she prompted.  Evie, though she still appeared bashful, seemed to have made up her mind.    
  
“Yes, Mal.  I’ll let you help me.”  Mal blinked.    
  
“Oh — okay,” she stumbled a little.  She’d partly been expecting a different answer, but now that Evie had agreed, she had to actually put the plan into action.  “Lean back a little then, baby girl,” she prompted.  Obediently, Evie moved slightly away, still looking slightly nervous.    
  
As Mal reached for the zipper on her jacket, she paused.  For once, as she looked at Evie, she allowed her eyes to go soft.  
  
“I’m glad you asked me for help,” she said quietly.  Evie’s eyes snapped up to meet hers.  Appreciation wasn’t precisely a _thank you,_ but on the Isle, it might as well have been.  “I will always be here to help you, you know that, right?  That’s my job.”  And it was.  It may have sounded somewhat clinical in those words, but this was what Mal had signed up for.  She and Jay were the leaders, the protectors; ensuring the survival of their pack was what they did.  What form that realistically took shape in differed, but at the core the arrangement was the same.  Jay took care of Carlos, Mal took care of Evie.  It was the way it was.    
  
It wasn’t that the two were weak; that wasn’t it at all.  Mal had lived on the Isle all her life, had spent most of her days battling all manners of evil people, and of all of them, Evie was one of the few she wouldn’t wish to confront.  The difference was, they all knew, in terms of _how_ they could fight.  Mal and Jay wielded brute force, while Carlos and Evie battled with cunningness, maliciousness; intelligence.  Mal and Jay were stronger, Carlos and Evie smarter.  It meant, however, that the latter two were more susceptible to violence.    
  
The former two took their job very seriously.  It wasn’t often that anyone on the Isle directly expressed a need for help.  Help meant weakness, and weakness was unacceptable.  The fact that Evie had come to Mal with a plea for aid let her know just how serious the situation was.  At this point, Evie had gone days without a single bite of food and weeks without anything sufficient.  Her body was trembling from weakness, her bones showing, her belly hollow.  It was a wonder that she was still standing at all.    
  
Of _course_ Mal was going to do this for her.    
  
Reaching for her zipper, she tugged the jacket open, shivering slightly as the cold air hit her skin.  She had no shirts at the moment, none that were suitable to the weather, anyway, so the jacket was all she had.    
  
Evie’s eyes flickered not-so-subtly downwards and locked there.  It was clear that she was fully realizing, for the first time, exactly what this meant. 

“I don’t — what do I do?” the whisper escaped chapped lips.  Mal’s hands fell encouragingly to her hips.    
  
“Move forward,” she instructed, helping Evie to maneuver.  “In my lap — there you go.”  Sinking down on the wall so that she was nearly lying flat, she eased Evie down into her lap, tugging the blanket tighter around them both.  The fleece was slightly damp with rain.  Evie sank down to slightly below eye-level, her hands falling to slip beneath the jacket, wrapping around Mal’s shoulders to brace herself.  
  
“How do I — ”  
  
“I’ll guide you, princess,” Mal soothed her, reaching up to cradle the back of her head.  “It’ll be natural once you start.  Just don’t drink too fast, or you’ll make yourself sick.”  With a final, tentative glance upwards, Evie nodded.  Her fingertips tightened ever-so-briefly on the warm skin of the faerie’s shoulders.  
  
Then she leaned forward, Mal providing gentle pressure at the back of her head, and latched on.    
  
Mal let out a surprised sound at the same time she did, both of them momentarily so startled that Evie pulled away briefly.  Their eyes met, shocked.  Mal raised her eyebrows; Evie swallowed hard.    
  
Then, slowly, she moved back in.    
  
As she drank, Mal held her close, using one arm to secure the blue-haired girl in place while her other hand remained at the back of her head.  The blanket remained around them both so that Evie was cradled against her chest, one hand slipping down to rest against her collarbone.    
  
At first, Evie seemed almost frantic, nearly choking in her haste to have _something_ in her empty belly.  Worried that she would make herself sick, Mal bent over her, stroking her hair away from her face and leaving her hand there to brush her thumb over the shell of her ear.  At that, Evie seemed to calm, reassured that there was no hurry; Mal wasn’t going anywhere.  She slowed, allowing her eyes to fall shut.    
  
Evie’s lips were _warm._    
  
Actually, all of Evie was warm; Mal was suddenly hyper-aware of every part of their skin that was touching.  The chill still broke in a little; she could feel it on her face, but the majority of her was heated by the connection to the girl in her lap.  Looking down, she found herself watching Evie’s eyelids flutter, her throat moving as she swallowed.  Watching, it suddenly hit Mal.  
  
She’d always taken care of Evie, but this was the purest form of that that she could do.  Evie, her sweet Evie, was ill and exhausted and so hungry that she was nearing collapse, so frail and malnourished that she had succumbed to a need those from the Isle never did and asked for help.  She had come to Mal pleading with her to keep her alive, and here Mal was feeding her, nourishing her _herself._   No one would be able to say she hadn’t done her duty.  Besides, privately, she liked the idea of being the reason behind Evie’s strength.  She wanted to see her heal and grow stronger because of actions she had taken.    
  
She couldn’t pretend, either, that it didn’t feel nice to have an excuse to hold her.    
  
Eventually, Evie pulled back, detaching with a slight pout of protest.  Watching her carefully, Mal noted that her eyes were glazed over and a little out of focus.  She seemed reluctant to move away.  As she moved her hand, Mal caught sight of her delicate wrists and wrapped her arm tighter around a thin waist.  
  
Evie didn’t ask the question out loud, but her eyes were full of curiosity.    
  
“Have more,” Mal encouraged softly.  “You’re still hungry, and the more you have, the better you’ll feel.  I have plenty to give you.”  Evie gazed back at her steadily; they held eye contact for a long moment before, slowly, Evie nodded.    
  
She didn’t bother concealing her need for closeness this time, curling deeply into Mal’s body as she drank.  Mal, in turn, held her closer than she had before.  She wasn’t about to deny either of them the connection — and besides, Evie was sick.  Mal’s warmth was helping to ward off the chill.  She’d noticed, too, in the past, that Evie seemed to feel safest around her.  It was something that she’d found during fights; she would push the girl behind her for protection, and Evie would linger there, always close enough to touch.  When it had been a particularly rough day, one filled with pain and punishment, it was into her arms that Evie would fly.  It was always Mal’s embrace into which she would melt, seeking warmth and safety and comfort.  
  
It made Mal wonder, but they were questions that she couldn’t afford to have floating around in her head.  Not here, at least; not now.    
  
When Evie had drunk her fill, she pulled away again, but this time remained close.  She pressed her forehead into the faerie’s sternum and breathed out shakily.  Without quite thinking about the why of it, Mal pressed a kiss to the crown of her head.    
  
“Feel better?”  The murmur was partially lost in indigo curls.  Evie hummed out a quiet sound of gratitude.  Tilting her head, she managed to angle an eye up to gaze at the girl above her.  
  
“Much,” she confirmed softly.  “Mal . . .”  She trailed off, but Mal could sense the thank you lingering in the open air.  It wasn’t something anyone said on the Isle, ever, but it almost felt acceptable here.  It had been a very raw moment, a moment of pure, willing give and take where one’s needs had been met by the other in a way more intimate than nearly anything else.  Evie had been starving; now, because of Mal, her belly was full, and would remain so as far as Mal was concerned.  It was clear to her that the Evil Queen wasn’t going to let up on her methods any time soon, so this, now a solution, could continue to be used.  Even when not sick, Evie had never gotten enough food.  They were usually at the mercy of the Isle’s supplies, but Mal discovered now that she had a strange and useful new power.  Evie no longer had to depend on the Isle’s resources for sustenance; this would always be an option.    
  
“I’ll keep feeding you.”  She voiced it in the moment with a serene look towards the girl in front of her.  Evie cocked her head.  
  
“Until I’m better,” she finished.  Mal shook her head.  She was sure to maintain their eye contact; she needed Evie to know how serious this was.    
  
“Always.”  There was something strange in her tone, an almost strangled quality to the word.  The moment felt solid, somehow, as though a pact had been made than could not be undone.  “I’ll always keep doing this, E, until you have enough to eat.  I won’t let you go hungry again.”  Evie’s eyes were backlit with something unidentifiable.  She seemed unable to speak.    
  
Watching her, Mal fully realized for the first time just how beautiful Evie was.  Her eyes were bright, her skin flushed with the glow that the faerie magic had brought to her cheeks.  Here, strengthened, surviving, she looked positively radiant.  There was something about the image that made Mal’s heart suddenly feel oddly full.

She found that she couldn’t help glancing down, and in her quick look noted that Evie’s stomach was no longer sucked in tight.  Though she was still pale and sick-looking, some color had returned to her skin, and her eyes were warmer than before.  Her shivers were less frequent, tucked here against Mal’s skin beneath the blanket.    
  
It didn’t matter what the Evil Queen’s methods were, what awful standards she would hold her daughter to.  Mal understood that now, for the first time, they held power over their parents.  She would keep Evie alive and well by her own hand.  No matter how hard the Queen tried to starve her daughter, she couldn’t take this away from them.  She wouldn’t be able to steal the glow from Evie’s cheeks, the glow that Mal had given her.    
  
For the first time, Mal pitied her.  No matter how obsessed the woman was with creating a perfect princess, she couldn’t see how stunning that vibrance was.    
  
The fact that Mal could suggested some things that she wasn’t quite ready to identify.  Those could be left for another day.  Today, however, they had forged something important, something that, Mal sensed, would become bigger than either of them expected.

_*end flashback*_

* * *

Ben is staring at them both.  Both girls are tense, Evie doing everything to avoid his gaze while Mal, in contrast, is watching him with an almost fanatic intensity.  For a long moment after she concludes the story, they sit in silence, until at last Ben gestures toward the pink-haired faerie.  
  
“You were _pregnant?”_ he exclaims.    
  
Mal actually laughs.  
  
“Out of everything I just told you, _that’s_ what you’re worried about?” she snorts.  “Yes, Ben, I’ve been pregnant.  I told you sex is a pretty common trading piece on the Isle.  It happens.  But really, that’s what you took out of all of this?”  She seems amused, but there’s a slight hint of apprehension in her tone, as though she’s not entirely certain that he’s not about to walk out of the room.  Beside her, Evie looks nothing short of terrified.  
  
Now knowing (at least some of) the intricacies of their relationship, Ben takes in their position with new eyes.  Sitting back against the headboard, Mal has Evie tucked into her side, one arm around her and the other playing with their fingers in her lap.  The moment they curled up together earlier, he watched Evie melt into the embrace, the tension fading from her body.    
  
He realizes, now, that they’ve always been this way; this close.  He’s seen the way that they snuggle together, Evie’s hand unconsciously resting on the swell of her chest, burying her face there when she’s tired and hungry and needy, and Mal doesn’t even bat an eye.  It makes him wonder . . .  
  
“How long did you . . . ?”  He’s not entirely sure what he wants to ask, but thankfully, Mal’s already a step ahead.    
  
“Until we came here,” she tells him; he doesn’t miss the way her arm tightens around Evie’s waist.  “Every day, if we could, we’d find somewhere safe.  She never got enough to eat, but it helped.  It made her feel better, and it was a way for us to connect.  It was our special thing.”  She says it fondly but firmly, and looks up at him with eyes hard as though daring him to challenge it in any way.    
  
He wouldn’t, even if he felt like facing her wrath.  
  
“She saved my life.”  The interjection from Evie is startling; she hasn’t said a word since they argued over eating.  Mal doesn’t jump, just tucks her hands into blue locks and plays with them fondly.  Evie’s red-brown eyes are solemn.  “I was dying, Ben,” she says with a hint of a crack in her voice.  “I would have died if she hadn’t done what she did.  She could have just left me; anyone else would have, but instead she fed me from her own body and made sure, every day after that, that I was never starving again.  She always made sure I had enough, and I . . . I don’t know how to get along without it,” she admits with a pinched look.     
  
“You’d get it, too,” Mal adds with a wry look in Ben’s direction.  “There wasn’t a lot of hope back on the Isle, but seeing the light come back into her eyes was the closest thing I ever got.”  There’s a strange note to her voice, almost like she’s wrestling with an outbreak of emotion.  Ben knows enough not to comment.  Instead, he decides to focus on what seems to be the most urgent matter at hand.  Evie has continued coughing all throughout the conversation, and she’s growing paler by the minute.  She’s leaning into Mal’s side far more heavily now than she was before, and Ben won’t pretend he’s not concerned.    
  
He’s known from the beginning that the Isle kids have a relationship that can’t be encroached upon.  As far as he’s concerned, this connection between his girlfriend and her . . . friend . . . is just an extension of that.    
  
“You know,” he does his best to remark casually, “it was a wonderful thing you did, Mal.  I mean — Evie, you two are so _close;_ you clearly have a bond.  I can’t imagine anyone interfering with that.”  He restrains himself from saying that they’re incredibly protective of each other, and possessive almost to the point of aggression.  He also doesn’t mention their clear need for constant contact, or the fact that they display a vulnerability with each other that he’s seen nowhere else.  Vulnerability isn’t their style, but they seem to be each other’s exceptions to that rule.    
  
Mal sniffs.    
  
“Your point is?”  He _did_ have a point.  He just lost it somewhere in his contemplation.  Mal seems vaguely flattered, but not enough so to admit it.  She’s far too focused on Evie to dedicate much thought to what Ben is trying to say.    
  
That brings him back to his point: Evie.  He’s not about to admit it out loud, or even quite to himself yet in all its significance, but he can’t deny the pull he feels.  He understands completely Mal’s need to provide, to protect.  He, too, wants to see Evie flourish; feels the need to be a part of it.  He’s just not quite certain that he’s ready to consider what that might mean.    
  
For now, though, he has a solution.  
  
“My point is,” he says patiently, “that Evie is sick, and won’t eat, and she’s used to depending on you to take care of her.  You’re clearly not opposed to it, either.  And yeah, Auradon may be a little . . . overly conventional, but as far as I’m concerned, there’s no reason why you shouldn’t indulge.”  Mal’s eyebrows shoot upwards as he finishes speaking.  Beside her, Evie struggles to sit more upright.  Her eyes look almost painfully hopeful, and Ben’s heart aches to know that she really thought he would condemn the special source of comfort that she’s forged.    
  
“Seriously?”  It’s Mal who speaks first, as usual, but even she can’t contain her tone of astonishment.  Ben shrugs.  
  
“Who am I to dictate how you heal?” he says simply.  Mal rolls her eyes.  
  
“The king,” she points out, and he has to admit she has something there.    
  
“Well, yes,” he grants with a slight grin, “but shouldn’t that mean that I’m also the one to assure you it’s okay?”  They don’t respond, only continue to stare at him in stunned silence.  He shifts uncomfortably beneath their steady gazes.  “Unless — that’s not what you want,” he backtracks, wondering if he’s misread the situation.  “If you don’t want to, I can go get my mother to make you some soup, or bring up some vitamin C tablets, or something; I just thought you might like to — you know, since it’s okay.”    
  
This time, it’s Evie who speaks, her cheeks thin but slightly flushed with surprise.  
  
“No, we would,” she breathes out hastily.  “We just thought — I mean, we weren’t sure if you would think it was awful.  We didn’t want to risk it.”  She doesn’t elaborate, but Ben understands without her saying.  _We didn’t want to risk being sent back._ It pains him again to think that he would really stoop so low.    
  
He’s going to have to be a little more convincing.    
  
Standing up, he crosses the small amount of space between the sewing table and the bed to stand before them.  Mal eyes him warily.  He ignores the scrutiny and instead leans down, taking Evie’s clammy hands in his with earnest eyes.  Evie glances down at their hands in surprise, a faint blush coming to her cheeks as though she didn’t expect him to ever deign to touch her.  Mal, in contrast, stiffens up and leans slightly away like a cat that doesn’t want affection.  He doesn’t miss their reactions, but chooses to ignore them in focusing on Evie.    
  
“I would never send you back there.”  The words are low, earnest.  Evie’s eyes are wide when they meet his.  He can feel Mal’s gaze upon him as well, and flickers his own eyes over to meet hers and hold contact solidly for a moment to show his sincerity.  “You experienced horrors that no one should ever have to endure.  It is the _very least_ that I can do to ensure that you experience every comfort now that you’re here.  That includes whatever you’ve found necessary for your wellbeing — short of violence, of course,” he adds to lighten things a little.  Carefully, he transfers his gaze back and forth to both of them, staring them hard in the eyes.  “You,” he continues, speaking solely to Evie, “are worthy of any care any of us can give you.  Especially Mal.  And you,” he adds, turning to the faerie in question, “are kind and gracious regardless of what you might have to say about it.  Don’t _ever_ be ashamed of something that you do in the name of protecting someone else.”    
  
Evie’s eyes have grown everything short of teary.  Beside her, Mal looks to be exerting great effort in order to restrain her own emotions.  Ben offers them both a small smile.  It is to Mal, however, that he turns fully, leaving one of his hands still holding Evie’s while the other rises to cradle his girlfriend’s cheek.    
  
“Take care of her, please.”  He hears the odd note in his voice, twisting the words’ implications.  It’s clear that Mal does, too, for she gives him a slightly startled look before glancing quickly at Evie, who remains pale.  After a moment, she nods.    
  
“I will.”  There it is again, that strange, implicit timbre.  Ben’s not quite ready to study it as yet.  He has a vague feeling, though, of what the end result might be.    
  
“Thank you,” he breathes in lieu of the several hundred other things clamoring to be said.  Then he pauses as something occurs to him.  “. . . Wait, though,” he says, only to backtrack hastily when it’s clear from their slightly panicked expressions that they both misinterpret the interjection.  “Before you told me what happened, I thought at first that it might involve magic,” he says slowly.  “That’s clearly not the case, but . . .” he trails off, uncertain where to go with this.  Mal raises an eyebrow.  
  
“But what?” she prompts.  Ben frowns in consideration.  “But you’re not pregnant now,” is what finally escapes him.  “So how can you . . .?”  Evie laughs a little, surprising him.    
  
“Ah, yes, well that part _would_ require magic,” Mal grants with the first hint of a grin.  “One little spell and I can simulate the changes.  I memorized it, you know — just in case.  Faeries _are_ known for nursing other creatures back to health, after all.”  He can tell that despite her joking tone, it means more than she’s saying to link herself, however slightly, to the good side of her species.    
  
Evie chuckles again.  
  
“Literally,” she points out in amusement.  Mal actually cracks a grin.  A moment later, though, her expression turns thoughtful, and she turns to face Evie with a furrowed brow.  The blue-haired girl seems to read a question in her eyes, for after several seconds, she nods solemnly.  Mal lifts her eyebrows and waits a moment more as though to make sure of her decision, and then they both turn back to Ben with an odd look splashed across both of their faces.    
  
“Hey, Ben . . .” Evie starts, then cuts herself off with another glance in Mal’s direction.  Green eyes flicker slightly.  
  
“Yes?” Ben asks attentively.  Neither girl responds.  They share another moment of stillness, some silent conversation appearing to take place between them, before something seems to move behind Mal’s eyes.  It’s she who gives the reply, not tearing her gaze from the girl beside her as she speaks.  
  
“ . . . Nothing.”  There’s something about the set of Evie’s mouth that suggests she’s on the verge of speaking, and he waits to see if she’ll give in.  Quickly, though, she swallows, and the odd moment is gone as soon as it came.  
  
“Thank you, Ben,” she says sweetly instead, and he nods.    
  
“Of course.”  It seems that there is no more to be said; Mal has not removed her eyes from her companion’s face.  Whatever little interaction took place between them, it’s closed now, and the air has changed with it.  Whatever it was, Ben can tell that he’s not going to find out just now.  Sensing that he ought to give them some privacy, he moves to leave, and as he does so becomes acutely aware of the fact that his one hand still lies entwined with Evie’s while the other remains brushing the soft line of Mal’s jaw.    
  
It’s a little funny; he didn’t even notice that he hadn’t moved away.  


End file.
